


wrap your hand around my thumb

by ghostbythesea



Series: life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kid Fic, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Parent Klaus Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26510002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostbythesea/pseuds/ghostbythesea
Summary: Klaus gets a surprise visit at the shelter he’s staying in from an old fling’s sister. It doesn’t go how he would’ve expected it to.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Original Female Character(s), Klaus Hargreeves & Original Male Character(s)
Series: life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927465
Comments: 22
Kudos: 122





	wrap your hand around my thumb

  
When people tracked Klaus down, it wasn’t typically a good thing. It was usually either dealers wanting him to repay his debts, police officers wanting to question him for one crime or another, or creeps who’d fucked him once and thought he’d be willing to do it again. None off those were particularly desirable situations. It was part of why he kept moving, rotating between shelters and drug dens and alleyways to avoid staying in one place for long.

“She doesn’t look like an addict,” Ben mused, his expression pensive.

The woman in front of them, with freckled skin and long, dark curls spilling over an expensive looking red peacoat, shivered in the chilly autumn air. She had looked around the shelter with disdain, and when Klaus had approached her, the frown she wore had deepened.

“I don’t know you,” Klaus lied reflexively, although she did look vaguely familiar in her thick eyebrows, and the shape of her nose. He knew a lot of people, though, and the drugs had turned his facial recognition skills to shit. And she must’ve had a reason to come find him at the shelter he was staying in, and specifically seek him out. “I think you have the wrong man.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m Jane. You knew my sister,” she said disdainfully, looking over him. Taking a polaroid photograph out of her pocket, she offered it to him carefully, holding it by the corner. “She asked for me to come and find you. She said you’d be here.”

Warily, he grabbed the picture.

The photo was of a hospital room, judging by the bed and the monitors surrounding it, although the curtains were closed. A baby was being cradled by a woman who looked even more familiar than Jane, more medical equipment than infant, and he felt a swell of sympathy at the sight. The woman wore a tight smile as she looked at the camera, the track marks telling him everything he needed to know about her.

She really was familiar.

“ _Leanne?_ ” He asked, squinting down at the image. He’d hooked up with her almost a year before at some nightclub, and had spent some time fucking around with her in her dingy apartment before they’d decided things were getting too serious, and he fucked off. “She was pregnant?”

Jane grimaced. “She said that you’re the father.”

Klaus’ fidgeting stilled. Next to him, Ben muttered, “ _Shit_ ,” but he hardly noticed it through the feeling like cotton was stuffed in his ears and the white noise in his head. A lump formed in his throat as he looked down at the photograph of his baby, swaddled in a blue blanket with wires and monitors sticking out of them, and he suddenly couldn’t breathe.

“If you want to know for certain,” Jane continued, scuffing her foot against the cheap linoleum floor, “then we can order a paternity test. But she was confident that it was you.”  


He could agree with that assertion.

“Klaus,” Ben sighed, “you’ve fucked up.”

Klaus let the stranger drive him to the hospital.

There were two women already inside of the room when Klaus entered, sitting next to the intimidating cradle in wicker chairs. One, with greying brown hair pulled away from her freckled face, round glasses, and a kitschy pair of denim overalls, looked similar enough to Jane and her sister that he assumed she was her mother. The other, with dark skin and a navy blue suit, was holding a clipboard and staring absently at a window with its shades pulled down.

The first stood up when she saw him walk through the doorway, a gentle smile spreading across her face. It wasn’t often that strangers looked so happy to see him, especially when he was the one who’d likely gotten her daughter knocked up. They’d could do a paternity test, like Jane had said, but Klaus had spent a full week with Leanne, who preferred sleeping with women. If she’d said that he was the father, it was probably him.

“You must be Klaus,” the woman said warmly, keeping her voice quiet, pulling him into a hug. He returned the embrace cautiously, sending a confused glance towards Ben. His brother only shrugged. When she pulled away, she framed his face with her hands, examining him from his head to his feet. “You’re too thin! My name is Denise,” she introduced herself, “I’m Leanne’s mother.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Klaus said, feigning a smile. He was too tired and achy and nauseous from withdrawal to be dealing with people, but he wanted to make a good first impression, even if he felt like shit.

She pulled away, and the other woman stood, approaching them.

“Christine Dhaliwal,” the other woman introduced herself, extending her hand in invitation. Klaus took it cautiously, and they shook hands, her grip startlingly firm. “You can call me Christine. I’m the family’s social worker.”

That was to be expected, Klaus supposed. Two uninvolved drug addicts having a baby wasn’t exactly the ideal nuclear family in the eyes of CPS, and with other family involved, it would probably be easier for the government to send them ( _his baby, Jesus Christ—_ ) to live with their relatives. He could hardly be expected to raise a child himself when he didn’t have a proper example of what parenting should be like.

“You can meet your son,” she said, stepping away and gesturing towards the cradle, “and then we’ll discuss our options.”

His son. He looked back towards the cradle.

“Where’s Leanne?” Klaus asked, his fingers itching for a cigarette, or something else he could fidget with. He desperately needed a smoke, or another hit, but he only had a baggie of heroin on him, and he wouldn’t shoot up in the hospital restroom while the social worker waited for him to get back. That would just be impolite, and even he had standards.

Not to mention that he didn’t have a needle on him.

“She left,” Jane grumbled. “Checked herself out last night. Didn’t even tell us.”

Denise looked pained as she wrung her hands together. “Leanne has struggled with... the drugs for years. When she decided to keep him, I hoped maybe she’d choose recovery, but...”

“It just wasn’t meant to be,” Klaus finished.

She nodded, and he sighed, wandering closer to the cradle. “Take a seat,” Denise instructed, “and we can get a nurse to help you hold him.”

When Denise came back with a nurse, Jane excused herself, saying that she needed to check in on her dog that she’d left at home. Klaus knew she probably just didn’t want to watch him holding the baby he’d begotten on her sister, not that he could blame her. Four people (five, counting Ben) standing around the cradle was too much of a crowd, anyways.

He sat down awkwardly in the chair, and watched warily as the nurse carefully untangled the wires in the crib, picking the babe up carefully. He started to wail, limbs trembling as his face scrunched up and reddened in distress, and Klaus felt his chest tighten. She carried the babe towards him, and instructed him on how to keep his head supported and cradle him close to his chest before passing him into his arms.

Fussing, the baby pressed his face into Klaus’ chest, and he took in his short, dark curls and delicate fingers, the way his eyes squeezed shut as he bawled, upset at being disturbed. Shushing him gently, Klaus could feel the tears prickling uncomfortably at his eyes, even if he didn’t want to start crying in the middle of the hospital room.

It was love at first sight.

“You’re a natural daddy,” the nurse complimented sweetly, even though his son hadn’t stopped crying. Ben rolled his eyes, but Klaus’ throat tightened painfully, the first tear slipping out.

“What’s wrong with him?” Klaus asked softly, gently brushing his thumb over the drip coming out of his shaky hand. It was one thing being in the hospital himself, and another to see such a tiny baby stuck there. He had his daily visiting, sure, but they certainly couldn’t be there all the time.

“His lungs weren’t fully developed,” Denise explained, “and he has, ah—”

“NAS,” the nurse supplied, “neonatal abstinence syndrome.”

“Oh,” he breathed. Leanne didn’t quit, then.

“Would you like to be included on the birth certificate?” Denise asked, sounding almost hopeful. He couldn’t imagine why she’d want someone like him to be listed as her grandson’s father, but his heart fluttered at the prospect regardless of how incompetent he’d be at fatherhood.

“Go ahead,” Klaus breathed.

“You can’t take care of a baby when you can hardly take care of yourself,” Ben scolded. “Think this through, for once.”  


Klaus ignored him.

His son’s cries faded to whimpers of distress, his hand shaky as Klaus pressed a finger against his palm, curling into a weak fist around it. He sniffled, blinking open red-rimmed eyes to stare up at Klaus, his nasal cannula shifting as he scrunched up his nose again, and Klaus smiled down at his perfect son past his own tears. “Hello, baby! Oh, he’s _beautiful_.”

“Leanne named him Joseph, after her father,” Denise said, kneeling down next to the chair, “but she wanted you to choose his middle name.”

It was an easy decision. “Benjamin,” he sighed theatrically, watching as she started to write it down on the sheet of paper, his son’s birth certificate, “after my dearly departed brother, may he rest in peace.”

_Joseph Benjamin Hargreeves._ A bit of a mouthful, the type of pretentious shit he’d have wrinkled his nose at before, but it suited him, somehow.

“Klaus,” Ben said harshly, although his expression was one of shock rather than anger. Klaus blew him a kiss, and he crossed his arms across his chest, a blush on his cheeks even though he was trying to remain disapproving of him. “You shouldn’t get attached. You won’t be able to—”

“Now, Mr Hargreeves,” Christine said, settling down in the chair next to him, her voice soothing as Klaus snapped to attention to listen to her, “our first mission is always to keep the children in our system safe and healthy, but we also hope to reunite children with their parents, should they prove themselves capable of caring for them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” he croaked. Ben watched them silently, mouth agape.

“It’s your choice whether you want to take on this responsibility,” she continued, gesturing towards the infant. He nodded, heart fluttering in his chest. “I believe that if you’re willing to put in the time and effort, you would make a good father for your son. But that depends on whether you’re willing to get sober for him.”

_Sobriety_.

He was twenty-one, and he hadn’t been voluntarily sober since he was twelve, had his jaw wired shut, and found out that morphine could make the ghosts disappear. He’d just gotten out of his second rehab facility, court-ordered, and although he’d done the full month-long stint, he’d kept himself high with the tiny bottle of prescription meds he’d managed to sneak inside and ration.

He hadn’t genuinely considered sticking with it since Ben first appeared, before he’d realized that Ben stuck around regardless of his state of inebriation. When he was sober, there wasn’t a moment of quiet, not a second where he could just be alone with his thoughts. They’d scream in his ears, plead with him to just listen to them, always _‘help us, Klaus,’_ with no regard for his capability or willingness to help them.

In short, sobriety wasn’t for him.

But while Klaus knew that it was different from his son, that he had a obviously adoring grandmother who could serve as his legal guardian, and Klaus, on the other hand, had been adopted by Sir Reginald Hargreeves, the prick, it didn’t change the fact that he’d been in the same situation, once. A mother that didn’t want him, no father in sight. And fuck, Klaus didn’t want that for him. He knew it was selfish, but he wanted to give his son all the love and affection and respect he was starved of as a child, even if he didn’t know how to give it. How someone was supposed to love their child.

Not to mention that the kid could’ve inherited his powers. He didn’t even want to think about that possibility, that he could’ve passed on his rotten, fucked-up genes to his poor baby, alongside whatever drug issues he’d been given from his mother. Denise seemed nice enough, but she wouldn’t understand what he was going through, if he even inherited them. If he was even his son, although the dark curls and the shape of his nose told him _yes, he was._

“I will,” Klaus promised her enthusiastically, “I’ll get sober. I’ll find a job, an apartment. Whatever it takes.”

Ben left the room, slipping through the closed door.

Christine seemed surprised, eyebrows raising and eyes widening, although she quickly schooled her expression to something more neutral. Klaus knew he wasn’t the type of person to inspire confidence in others, that he probably looked like a mess (there were track marks on his exposed arms, he hadn’t washed his face in days, and he was lucky there was a shower in the shelter), but it hurt, somewhat, to see the disbelief so evident on her face.

She’d said he could make a good father if he put in the effort, but she probably didn’t think he’d even bother trying. Klaus knew he was selfish, and that was exactly why he wanted to be in his son’s life. Even if he could never become his legal guardian, he still wanted to be a presence in it, to be able to take his son to restaurants on his birthday and teach him how to shave, do all the things he knew, in abstract, fathers were supposed to do.

He didn’t realize he was crying again until more tears landed on his son’s face.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Christine sighed eventually, writing something down on her clipboard. She sounded almost approving of him. “For now, his legal guardianship will be given to his grandmother, Denise Green, and when he’s released from the hospital, he’ll stay at her residence until you’ve been approved by the court to serve as his permanent legal guardian.”

“And best case scenario, how long might that take?” Klaus asked.

“If you can get a job, find stable housing, and achieve sobriety in a timely manner,” Christine said patiently, “then about six months. Just long enough that you can prove yourself a competent parent.”

Half a year. His son wouldn’t remember half a year of his absence.

_Joseph_ , he thought giddily. Joe— no, _Joey Hargreeves_. His son.

“Your first custodial hearing is scheduled for three weeks from now, although you can request the date to be changed if it’s inconvenient,” Christine continued, taking a sheet of paper from her clipboard and offering it to him. He accepted it carefully, setting it down on the table next to him. “The better position you’re in by then, the better your outcome will be.”

Get clean, get a job, get an apartment. It sounded so simple, but he knew it’d be the most difficult thing he’d done in his life, when he couldn’t even stay sober for Ben. He owed it to his son to give him the childhood he’d never received, to make sure he was a presence in his life.

He was fresh off of rehab, and had relapsed almost immediately.

“Does CPS have a preferred rehab center somewhere?” Klaus said, trying for humor. Denise smiled thinly, but the joke fell flat.

“There are several accredited facilities here,” Christine said, “and I can get you a list, if you want. Do you have insurance?”

“Fuck, no,” Klaus tittered, immediately wincing at his own crude language. “But my sister, she’s paid for this sort of thing in the past.”

Allison had visited him in the hospital after his first overdose outside of home, teary-eyed and sympathetic. She hadn’t come for the second, or the third, but she’d sent get-well letters, and called him to check up on him. Eventually, those stopped, too, and they hadn’t spoken in well over a year, but she still paid for his rehab when he’d asked, even if they weren’t on speaking terms at the moment.

He knew it was using her, but he hadn’t been serious about getting clean before, ever. Maybe it could be a step closer to healing the bond they’d had as children, back before he’d gotten hooked on chasing the ghosts away. She’d certainly be excited about being an aunt.

Christine’s gaze flickered towards the tattoo on his wrist. Of course she knew who he was, who his sister was. “Another option is a methadone prescription,” she suggested.

“And what’s that?” Klaus asked with a sniffle, perking up reflexively at the word prescription before immediately feeling embarrassed by his reaction. He was supposed to be getting clean, not getting addicted to some other drug else that was potentially worse. “It sounds like an analgesic, which is something I should definitely be avoiding.”

“Methadone is a prescription drug used to help curb substance abuse through avoiding withdrawal and cravings,” Christine explained, lips quirking up into an almost-smile. He counted it as a win that he hadn’t elicited her disapproval, beyond what was already to be expected. “It functions as a sort of replacement, providing relief without causing a high. It’s perfectly legal, I assure you, and there are inpatient facilities that provide it, too.”

It sounded almost too good to be true. “And what happens after the, ah, custody hearing?”

Christine removed another sheet of paper, passing it to him. “Preferably, we’ll establish a visitation schedule within the next few days,” she said, tapping on the portion of the paper that had a timeline written on it, “so you can develop a health attachment between yourself and your son. The custody hearing will just serve to determine a timeline for reunification, and whether that’s something currently possible for you.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, scrunching his eyes closed. Withdrawal was just making the whole experience harder than it already was, even without the legal information he was needing to remember. At least daddy-dearest had considered a crash run on state and federal law a necessity. It felt like there should be a catch to everything. “And what about rehab?”

“We can schedule around it with supervised trips from whatever facility you choose, if you elect to use one,” Christine assured him. “Mrs Green has also volunteered to let you stay in her home, so that’s another option.”

“I couldn’t help my daughter,” Denise rushed to explain, “but if I could help you, well. Maybe that’ll help make up for it.”

A proper home, probably with a bathtub and a bed and an actual kitchen. His mind conjured images of his own childhood home, although he was certain Denise’s home was nothing like that awful place, judging by what he’d seen of her. But he didn’t do well with unfamiliar places, so while he was tempted, it wouldn’t be sustainable for him.

He didn’t want to stay with her, didn’t think he could handle it, but he supposed that he could stay with Diego.

“I have a brother who’d take me in,” Klaus assured her. Diego was one of the few people in his life who he was still on speaking terms with. He knew that he was running out of second chances with him, but he was confident that he could make Diego understand how badly he wanted to get sober this time.

“I can at least give you a ride there,” Denise offered.

He agreed. After all, the tiny house Diego shared with his girlfriend from the police academy was on the other side of town.

“Nobody can get clean until they decide that they’re ready for it,” Christine reminded him sternly. “This is a massive responsibility, and you’re still very young. Are you certain you can handle this?”

“It’s important to me,” Klaus promised. “I will.”

He definitely wasn’t prepared for it, but he’d never done things in moderation. It wasn’t how he’d planned his year to go, fuck, even his life (at the age of sixteen, he’d predicted he’d end up dead in the gutter before his twentieth birthday), but like hell if he wasn’t going to embrace it.

He’d get clean, or die trying.

“Good,” Christine said. Her expression was inscrutable as she rose to her feet, dusting off her skirt. “I have an appointment to keep, but it’s been a pleasure, Klaus. Denise can give you my number if you have any questions.”

“Ciao,” Klaus called in farewell as she walked through the door.

He cradled his son until the baby fell asleep, and Denise helped him put him back into his bassinet, although he wanted him back in his arms almost as soon as he’d let go of him. She chattered about her daughters, and her glassblowing business, proudly showing off the earrings and other jewelry she’d made herself, and Klaus found it soothing that he didn’t need to lead the conversation himself as his withdrawal got worse.

While weaning himself off the hard shit with medication would be the easiest route to sobriety, he was impatient. Quitting cold-turkey would be his method of choice, although he knew it would be miserable.

“I just need to use the bathroom,” Klaus excused himself as they headed towards her vehicle.

“I’ll wait outside,” Denise promised. Either she was more cunning than she’d initially let on, or she just wanted to give him support. He had no intention of ditching, but either way, it was reassuring.

Alone in the men’s restroom, he locked himself in the stall, settling down on the toilet. Hands itching, he tried pulling on his power tentatively, and was relieved when he felt it stirring in his veins. He was sober enough for his powers to work. Shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, he focused on the thought of Ben, on his face, and pulled on the tether between them.

When he opened his eyes again, Ben looked unamused.

“You’re being selfish, Klaus,” Ben said dryly.

“Trust me,” Klaus returned, “I’m aware of that, Ben.”

He’d kept his brother from passing onto the other side out of his own reluctance to lose him, after all. He’d stolen, and lied, and cheated other people, hustled for money and drugs and whatever else he’d needed, even when somebody inevitably got hurt. He’d burnt enough bridges to last a lifetime, broken too many people’s trust in him to ever hope to salvage some of his relationships.

Klaus was selfish, plain and simple. He was attractive, too, and he knew he had his moments, but if anyone asked him what his core personality trait was, he would undoubtably say selfish.

“If I get sober,” Klaus mused, “maybe Diego will finally believe that I can see you. Wouldn’t you want that?”

Ben’s face softened in longing, before he put back on the stoic mask from before. “That’s not relevant,” he insisted, shaking his head. “You’re incapable of taking care of a child. You’ve tried before to quit, and you couldn’t.”

Reaching in his pocket, Klaus pulled out the bag of heroin, shaking it out as Ben narrowed his eyes suspiciously. The temptation to just use it to get rid of it flashed through Klaus’ mind, but if he couldn’t even last an hour without getting high, he wouldn’t be able to get sober permanently.

It was daunting, but he was always as stubborn as he was selfish.

Opening the bag, he dumped its contents into the toilet below him, pointedly not watching it hit the water. Standing up, he flushed it silently as Ben raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll do it,” he insisted, “just you see.”

Staring at him a moment longer, Ben finally looked away with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll play along with your bad idea.”

Klaus puffed out his chest. “You’ll see, Bennifer, everything’s gonna’ work out fine. When have I ever led you astray?”

Ben opened his mouth to reply, and he shushed him hurriedly.

”Don’t answer that!”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll probably continue this, although when, I’m not so sure. Expect any updates to come after I’ve posted updates for my other works in progress.
> 
> I did some serious research for this fanfic, and I’m sorry for all the, uh, legal stuff, although I’m certain there are things that I either missed or was too tired to go deeper into (most of this was written while I was severely sleep deprived), so let me know if something is blatantly wrong or incorrect. I tried for a more realistic approach to balancing parenthood with addiction, although I’m fairly certain I missed the mark. From here on out, the original characters won’t be as important, although they’ll certainly be making their appearances as the “other side of the family.”
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. Drop a comment (even just to scream!), because that shit sustains me, and leave kudos if you enjoyed!


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